


The Demons Within Ourselves

by drowning_in_otps



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Magic, Fantasy, M/M, Mages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 11:48:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12432204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowning_in_otps/pseuds/drowning_in_otps
Summary: “Anyone can learn magick. It’s pretty damn pricey, but hey, if you want to, good for you. Just don’t expect to be any good at it. Magick’s a combination of hardwork and natural ability. Anyone who tells you they were born toppling mountains probably couldn’t even shake a tree.”A week ago, Jason's biggest worry was being back under Bruce fucking Wayne's thumb once again - this time as his apprentice. Maybe Roy was right. Maybe the asshole really was the key to fixing the block that'd been around his magick since his sort of death. Except now, he had bigger issues, and they all centered around the damn Cheshire Cat that was Dick Grayson and the damn bond the man tricked him into.Except, apparently, that was Jason's fault as well. Because everything was.Of course.





	The Demons Within Ourselves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zillabird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zillabird/gifts).



> I'm not the greatest at summaries, so I hope you don't let the summary keep you from reading this! I've done a lot of world building, which will be seen in later chapters. I hope you enjoy, and I look forward to your comments!

Dying flames crackled over the border of sticks and stones, casting a soft glow across the backdrop of the caravan, its keeper dozing off and on with a worn staff resting across his chest, calloused fingers holding onto it loosely as if it were more a security blanket than an artifact of protection.

Past the small collection of tents and just out of reach of the dying glow of lamp lights and flames bobbed a lone light, flickering in and out at the base of the hill. A curse followed it, along with a quiet thump, the sound of a hand making impact with a head.

“You idiot,” the man with a scar stretching across his cheek growled, glaring at his partner, who was rubbing the side of his head with a frustrated grimace. “You need to hold the damn thing _still_ so I can get this right.” They only got one shot with this, and he refused to have that one chance jeopardized because of the man’s incompetence.

The lamp holder’s jaw clenched, curly locks framing a face made pale from the backlight of the lamp as he shifted it to shine across the symbols drawn across the surface of the ground, nestled among the random clustering of grass here and there across the otherwise barren dirt. “You act like I can control the wind. It’s not my hand that’s moving, it’s the damn wind trying to snuff it out.”

It felt like a bad omen.

The scarred man didn’t respond, putting forth his focus into the arrangement of the deep blue candles in the designated spots around the smaller arrangements of symbols that spread out to form larger, overlapping designs that ended with a full, twisting infinity within the circular space.

The lamp holder looked up at the moonlight shining down on them, granting a little bit more light to the situation but not by much. Something about its presence left something twisting uneasily in his stomach. “You sure ‘bout this? That old paper of yours said something about daytime, and this ain’t no daytime.” He received a grunt in response as the other man pushed himself back up onto his feet, eyes flickering over his handiwork.

“One tiny detail, hardly a deal breaker.”

He wasn’t too sure about that, but the lamp holder nodded anyway. He blew out a small breath into the cold night air, watched as it hovered visibly for a moment before disappearing. This was why he hated Gotham. You either got scorching heat or a chill that cut to your very bone, and he was as much bone as you could get.

He shifted the lamp a bit, resisting the urge to rub his hands together. “You almost done?”

“Patience,” the scarred man snarled. He leaned back on his haunches, grey eyes flickering over the summoning area before pulling back and reaching into his threadbare jacket, pulling out a crinkled piece of paper, stained from old age. He cleared his throat as he stood up.

“ _Et vocavi vos, de tot, nobis vim inferre felicitate tua_.” The lampholder shivered, feeling the chill pick up in the air. There was a faint rustling sound that sounded like it came from above, and his eyes darted around, though he didn’t see anyone, any _thing_ , on the hill ledge above them.

“ _Et vocavi te nomine tuo reverentissime_.” There was a pause, and he wished the other man would just get on with it. He didn’t like this. Didn’t think this was the sort of shit they should be messing with. “ _Aym. Harborym. Aini. Et cogunt vos in circuitu nostro in nostrae voluntatis imperio_.”

Nothing happened - no lightning, no thunder, no earthshaking quake - and the lamp holder let out a soft breath of relief. “Sorry, Tony. Guess it wasn’t any good after all, huh? Let’s just head back and -” He cut off suddenly.

The summoning area was glowing a haunting aegean blue, and the air around it seemed a little hazier than the usual Gotham haze, an almost lemon-like smell coating the area. He exchanged a look with the other man before looking back, fingers tightening around the lamp before he slowly set it on the ground. Before he could say anything, before his partner could say anything, there was an awed gasp from above them.

Tony’s eyes snapped upwards, dark orbs widening at the sight of the small child, and could only watch as the boy leaned too far over the edge to get a better look and lost his balance, falling over the edge.

Right into the circle, the carefully drawn runes marred - smeared across the dusty ground, the candles knocked over, their light extinguishing almost immediately.

A sharp burst of wind swept through the area before settling, and Tony snarled, anger burning within his eyes. “You stupid kid!”

“Shit,” the lamp holder whispered, eyeing the kid who was laying far too still. That couldn’t be good.

 

**~*~**  
  


“Another.”

The man sitting across from the scowling, dark haired mage whistled lowly and shook his head, strands of reddish-orange hair falling into his face. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Jaybird? I mean, I know you’re upset, but upset doesn’t necessarily equate to getting drunk off your ass, you know.” He eyed the empty tankard resting in front of his friend on the old, wooden table. “Neither does bringing a former alcoholic into a tavern and guilting him into sticking around to keep your neck out of trouble, but hey, you do you.”

Jason’s scowl deepened, his eyes narrowing on the tinker mage. “I didn’t force you to come along. You could’ve stayed back.”

“Then who else would be there to make sure you didn’t accidentally drown in whatever shit you’re downing like water?” Roy flashed him a grin. Despite his words about bringing an alcoholic into a tavern, he looked remarkably relaxed and unconcerned. “Plus, you don’t drink in the nicest of areas, so it’s my duty to make sure you don’t get hexed or kidnapped for some sort of dark magic ritual shit.”

Jason flipped him off. “I can take care of myself.”

Roy nodded sagely. “So says the three tankards you’ve had so far in the past half hour.”

Jason had reason to drink though. It was his third year in the Academy, and so he was _finally_ placed with a mentor for field study. Most students were assigned during their first year, but - because of certain circumstances - he’d been deemed _undesirable_ as an apprentice.

When Jason had envisioned finally mentoring under an experienced mage, finally getting a chance to get his feet wet with his field study, he had seen himself with Diana Prince, a fellow geomancer who would be able to teach him further beyond the simple readings. Implementation, not just more meaningless words. Help him regain his connection to the earth that he had lost. That he felt every damn day like a missing limb.

Instead, he had gotten assigned to live and study under the former High Mage and Council member Bruce Wayne.

And he was pretty sure he’d gotten the short end of the stick with that assignment. Why the hell _he_ got assigned to study under the disgraced mage was beyond him, though he was pretty damn sure it was because the Academy Headmaster had it out for him. He had since day fucking one.

Probably even since the day the bastard had taken him in off of the streets.

“I think I’ve earned them considering where I’m going to be spending the next however many fucking years,” he muttered. His entire future rode on Magister Wayne, and his apprentices, well, the failure rate was the highest out of all of the masters.

And failure led to them being barred from ever becoming true mages, their magic stripped by ligatures because they knew too much about the inner workings of the Academy and bound so that the most they could do was perform little parlor tricks that might earn them a couple coins here and there.

Jason refused to go back to performing parlor tricks on the streets to survive. Magic was their lifeblood.

 _His_ lifeblood.

Just when he had thought he was finally out of Bruce Wayne’s shadow, he was pulled back in.

Roy grimaced a little in sympathy. “Maybe it won’t be as bad as you’re thinking.” A pause, and then, “You can take the cat if you want. For good luck.”

“I doubt she’d appreciate that,” Jason said dryly.

“Joint custody,” he replied seriously. “If I keep her from seeing you, she’ll kill me in my sleep. Have you seen her when she’s angry? No thank you. The last thing I need is to wake up with her claws tearing into my throat.”

Jason actually snorted at the image before shaking his head and letting out a quiet sigh. “I don’t know, Roy. It might be safer to keep her away from there.” The last thing he needed was that on his conscious.

“Who knows how often you’ll be there anyway,” Roy said, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, the guy’s famous for hating to have an apprentice underfoot. You’ll probably be gone nine times out of ten getting rare ingredients for him.”

He sent his friend a sour look. “Considering I’m supposed to be learning from him, that doesn’t make me feel any better.” It just made him feel like he was wasting his time, even if he had dreamed of being his apprentice once upon a time when he’d been a stupid kid who hadn’t known any better.

This was just another way for Bruce to try and control him.

Roy shrugged, as if asking ‘What did you expect?’ “Just give him a chance. That’s all I can say, Jaybird. Who knows, maybe he’ll be able to help you with your little predicament. The guy deals with the dark stuff.”

Which was what had made Bruce Wayne the oddity among not just the Council, but most of their community, even though he held to the Arcane. No matter their specialization, mages belonged to either the Arcane or Natural when it came to the schools of magic. You didn’t have a holy mage or a dark mage; mages were the neutral ground that kept the balance. Roy belonged to the Arcane branch, as a practicer of Flectomancy. Jason, as a geomancer, had belonged to the Natural.

Now, he wasn’t so sure where he fit in.

“New topic,” Jason muttered, accepting his new tankard from the tavern maid and taking a long drink out of it. Something that didn’t have to do with his fucked up magic or his fucked up relationship with his new master.

“Or we could keep on this topic since you’ve got the emotional capacity of a peanut?” Roy flashed a grin at the glare his friend sent him. “Fine, fine,” he said, lifting his hands in a sign of peace. “Subject dropped.” Jason grunted dubiously in response, making the mage roll his eyes. “You should go up and ask the bartender for a tankard of water, okay? You’ll be thankful for it tomorrow when you don’t have to deal with Wayne with one hell of a hangover.”

Jason considered for a moment before reluctantly standing up, knowing Roy was right. If he intended on getting drunk, he might as well have some more water in him. “You want anything from up there?”

Roy tipped his head back in thought as he leaned back dangerously in his chair. “Some venison and potatoes? That’s the meal they’re serving tonight, right?”

“I’ll check,” Jason said before heading up to the counter. He was just drunk enough at the moment to appreciate the sight of the bartender while he waited to be served.

The dark haired bartender glanced at him briefly before finishing up with the customer he was with and coming over to him. “What can I get you?” he asked, showing off a smile that had his startlingly white teeth flashing in the dim lights of the tavern.

 _Your name_ , was the first thought on Jason’s mind. Because of course that was what his mind chose to focus on when he had other shit going on. Couldn’t say he didn’t have his priorities. “A tankard of water, and some venison with potatoes,” he said, pulling out his coin pouch.

“I’ll put the order in.” The bartender nodded back towards where Roy was sitting at the table. “I’ll have one of the barmaids bring the food out to you, though I can get that tankard situated right now.” He reached under the counter and pulled out a pitcher and a small tankard before filling the tankard up and passing it over towards Jason. “Anything else I can get you?”

Feeling brave, probably more so thanks to the alcohol than any actual bravery that he was pretty sure life had beaten the last dredge out of him long ago, he smirked and asked exactly what had been on his mind. “Your name?”

The bartender raised an eyebrow, bemusement settling in mischievous eyes. “Pretty forward,” he remarked. His eyes locked onto a white streak through the dark hair, settled just above the mage’s brow. After a pause, “Dick.”

Jason scowled, his jaw clenching tight. “I was just asking a damn question. Don’t have to be fucking rude.”

The man looked unimpressed. “That’s my name.” He glanced at another customer off to the side before bringing the drink he was making down to them. “Anything else you need sent to your table? I’m kind of busy right now.”

Okay, now _Jason_ felt like the ass. He shook his head before heading back and sitting across from Roy again, who looked amused as all fucking hell at his misfortune. “He shoots and… he misses. By a mile. Good job, Jaybird. Really taught me a thing or two.”

Jason flipped him off before hunkering around his tankard of water and drinking it sullenly.

 

**~*~**

Three hours later, and Jason was stumbling out of the tavern, body contents more alcohol than water. Roy had gotten called away for some mission by the Council - since he was a full fledged mage and no longer a student, unlike Jason - and had left over an hour ago after making Jason promise to get back to their small living quarters safely.

He was rubbing a hand over his face and leaned against the outside wall of the tavern, trying to will himself to sober up enough to start the trek back, when he heard a scratching noise. He paused and slowly slipped his hand off of his face as he listened. He was rewarded when the noise returned a moment later. He sniffed the air and grimaced. It smelled like something was rotting. Or maybe burnt since there was the stench of smoke in the air, even though the night air was clear.

Either way, it was none of his business.

Except he had a damn conscious and if someone was in trouble…

He rounded the corner of the tavern and kept his back flat against the brick to peek around. A sharp curse left him as he finally realized why the smell had stuck out to him. It was a fucking demon. Scaly skin, dull yellow eyes, a hand around the handsome bartender’s neck. If he wasn’t half out of his mind drunk, he might have noticed the way that the dark haired man wasn’t panicking.

If anything, he looked more annoyed than anything, irritation sparking in the blue eyes.

But all Jason’s mind could focus on was the demon, so he tried to pull all of his magical energy to the forefront and shove with his mind at the creature to get him away. Hardly an elegant display of magic, but it was a wonder he could even focus enough to do _that_ much when the world was swimming.

Maybe Roy was right. He needed to cut down on his fucking pity party.

Blue eyes snapped towards the new arrival, an eyebrow raising when the ravager demon - recovered from the weakly focused attack - lunged at the mage, tackling him to the ground and slamming his head into the ground. From where Dick was standing, it looked like the man was knocked unconscious.

Some savior.

“This is getting troublesome,” Dick muttered, glowing blue eyes the only light in the otherwise dark alley as he strode towards the two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> "I summon you, he of many faces, to bring your good fortune and power upon us. I call you by your most revered names, Aym, Harborym, Aini, and force you into our circle to obey our will's command."


End file.
